Many worlds beckon in sing-song harmony
With fetching chords vibrating in distorted uniformity
The individual frequency of their universes
Your ears are pricked in anticipation
Of the melodious invitation
Their sounds served on the plate of luxury
An exotica enticing faintheartedness and bravery
To walk the tightrope of what may just be imaginary
An endeavour that ends mightily in futility
Or a balancing act on the unicycle of possibility
Into the hallowed enclave of nomady
When there was no heeding
And the bride, you, was absent from the wedding
And the chance to get the final word in
Limped into the offing of nothing
It dangled yet another vista
In desperate need to nourish the seedling
It showed people of great and terrible ability
And slaved to bind you to the thrills of their infamy
A codeine-strewn story
A joyride into utter mirth
Or an entrapment to butter and fatten for slaughtering
As has been done to those before you
New experiences hearken to its sauntering ally
They call for the one who always appeared
The phantasm of a memory shared
The very familiar afterimage on every film replayed
That knowing inkling that never reaches completion
A somebody-that-I-used-to-know
A rendezvous with a stranger whose face you remembered
Older experiences, sketches of a time with equal myrrh and blahs aplenty
A stale drink that slices the throat
Drowning in its now absinthe pool
Yet it bows obsequiously
Embodying its new purpose
A stooge to the waypoints of what has been
The psychopomp to your search for new pomp
Stop opposing it, lean into it
You and I are the same
We are not warring factions
And the future I offer is not in fractions
It is complete in its yield, its satisfaction
This is real, Take the step
Speak into your longing for the journey
You have the alchemy of words
And it has mettle
Cry “Avra kedabra”
Not of the magical sort
The one that stays near the truth
And create as you speak
Be bold, raise all cadavers
Buried in the comfort of sedentariness
Know that you’ve been handpicked
Handpicked to be freed
Freed from the collective’s domestication
Domestication, enforced strongly by its congregation’s directive to be held down
To be held down, by the hands of permanence and security
Security, provided by home and community
Community, sought because of a fear
A fear of the death sentence
The death sentence, for all who are fleet-footed
As they cower in fear
Tower over it and its smear
Answer the call
You know the path
It has been written on the walls of your heart
Answer the call
The call to wander, a sojourner’s being
Grey
Curator of moments, collector of whispers